Page 19 of Irreverent (The Marked Saga #7)
My afternoon classes rushed by in a blur, mostly because I was so behind with my classwork and assignments that I had to double my focus and attention just to be able to keep up with what my teachers were saying during their class lectures. While it still felt kind of pointless being at school in the grand scheme of things, it was a welcomed distraction from the house of horrors that had now become my life. Sometimes it felt nice to pretend I was just another average teenager whose biggest problem was who I was going to the homecoming dance with. Even if it was a total lie.
My phone vibrated during French class with a text message from Trace:
Meet me by the art supply room in 5.
Worried that it was something serious, I quickly excused myself from class, stating that I was feeling sick, and then barreled down the hallway with my textbooks cradled against my chest. Rounding the corner, I slammed into a concrete chest that sent my books flying out of my hands and landing them scattered on the floor around me like confetti.
Peeved, I looked up to tell the person off and realized it was Trace standing there, both dimples blazing in amusement.
“You’re lucky you’re you,”
I said as I watched Trace bend down and gather my books for me, just like he had done so many moons ago on my first day of school. Of course, he had no memory of that, but it was a moment I’d never ever forget.
Cataloguing his features for any signs of mania, I reached my hand out to take my books back from him and was stunned when he grabbed my wrist and dragged me off behind him instead.
“What are you doing?”
I asked as he opened the door to the supply closet with his free hand and then pushed me inside the room before locking the door behind himself. “Where did you get a key?” I asked, knowing he definitely shouldn’t be in possession of one being that he wasn’t, you know, faculty.
He flashed a mischievous smile at me across the darkened room and then prowled toward me in silence. Unsure of what he was doing, I shuffled backward until my back hit a shelf filled with bottles of acrylic paint, several of which tumbled to the ground with a loud splat.
“We’re going to get in trouble,”
I warned as he closed the space between us.
Apparently, he had zero fucks to give on the matter.
The humming sensation erupted into an electrical current as he tipped my chin up with his hand and lowered his mouth to mine. Before I could think better of it, my mouth responded to the kiss, matching the heat of his lips with my own inferno as I welcomed him in with open arms and parted lips.
A soft, wanting moan escaped my mouth as he slid his fingers into my hair and then cupped the back of my head, anchoring me in place. Heat pooled low in my belly as his tongue slipped into my mouth, grazing against my own with the kind of skill that made my legs turn into instant jelly.
I whimpered into his mouth with what was meant to be a protest but came out sounding more like a feral matting call, and that was all he needed to switch us into high gear. He pushed me back hard against the shelf until the metal was all but digging into my spine and then covered my body with his.
I knew what he wanted—what he was asking for—and while a part of me knew that I should probably put the brakes on this and figure out my messy-ass love life first, the other part of me had zero desire to do either of those things. My soulmate was calling to me, the bond trilling in my veins with need, and all I wanted to do in that moment was answer the call and make everything better for him. To satisfy every urge and need that coiled between us like a rope.
Trace drew back slightly and met my gaze. My heart fluttered at the love and desire lighting up his eyes from the inside as he stared back at me in silence. It was almost as though he were trying to transmit his emotions—to fill my cup up with all the things he felt about me. And a part of me could feel it. Feel the love and vulnerability and want and protectiveness that he had for me, funneling into every part of my existence.
Pressing his forehead against mine, he slid his hands down my abdomen and then over my hips and thighs before coming back up the opposite way. With his hands under my pleated skirt, he smiled darkly as he dragged the tips of his fingers against my skin, bunching the fabric up higher as I all but panted in his face.
“Someone might walk by and hear us,”
I said, barely able to keep the breathiness out of my voice.
“Then don’t be loud.”
He moved his hands from my hips to my ass, cupping and squeezing as he licked between the seam of my lips, teasing and testing me, giving me ample time to put a stop to this if I really wanted to.
It was completely nuts. And I definitely needed to put a stop to it. Like right now.
But of course, I didn’t. How could I when my body clearly had its own agenda?
When zero protests sounded from me, he squeezed my ass harder, his fingers digging into my flesh before he hoisted me up in the air, wrapping both my legs around his waist and then pinning me against the metal shelf.
His hand moved again, between us this time as he lowered his fingers between my legs and pulled my underwear to the side. Every inch of my body was ready and wanting, buzzing with anticipation. My lips parted against his as he slowly entered me, the feeling of fullness and weightlessness making my stomach clench with need.
It was everything I needed right then and there. His mouth against mine, our bodies tied together and our soulmate bond buzzing contently as it sprouted off electricity through every cell in my body. As if knowing exactly what I needed, he moved slowly at first, but only to give me a moment to acclimate myself around him, to let every one of my nerve endings feel him, and then he was off, moving faster and harder with every thrust.
There was something incredibly feral and primal about the way we were giving in to each other—into our basic needs. No words were spoken as he rocked back and forth, his breathing coming out as fast and labored as my rocketing pulse was. My fingernails dug into the back of his neck as he captured my jaw with his hand and increased his speed.
His mouth crashed hard against mine as that familiar warmth began building low in my belly. Everything around us slipped away, as though it had never existed to begin with. The canvases and bottles of paint, the used-up paint brushes and clay. All the bad omens, the wars, the spilled blood and broken hearts; none of it registered. None of it mattered. It was just the two of us.
No one watching us.
Nothing threatening us.
Just his mouth on mine and our sweat mixing together like an intoxicating cocktail that I could spend my entire life drinking and still never get my fill.
I dug my nails in deeper as I neared that familiar peak, urging him to keep going—to push me off the edge the way he’d done so many times before. My head tilted back as a cry ripped from my lips, but Trace’s hand was right there, coming down hard against my mouth to keep me from screaming out for more like a banshee.
“Shh,”
he whispered as he continued thrusting back and forth, making my legs shake and my insides pulse and tighten around him, readying itself for that final stretch.
So. Close.
Another whimper bubbled up to the surface as I continued to climb higher and higher—closer and closer to where my body wanted to go. I bit down on his finger to keep the scream from ripping out of me and alerting the entire student body and faculty to what we were doing.
I knew I’d bitten down too hard the moment I tasted blood, but if it was hurting him, he hadn’t let on or missed a single beat. Instead, he brought his mouth to my ear and in his deep, baritone voice, he whispered, “Come for me, Jemma.”
That was all I needed to push me over the edge.
My head arched back in exquisite release, my muffled moans and whimpers barely audible even to myself as he continued to press his palm firmly against my mouth. Heat exploded from my core, ricocheting outward as waves of ecstasy pummeled every inch of my body, making me feel as though I were flying and sinking at the same time.
Trace watched me with liquid fire in his eyes as I came undone around him, my entire body clenching and unclenching as the waves continued to coast through me. He watched me get off, his eyes darkening with so much heat and lust that it almost sent me over the edge again, and then, when he couldn’t hold it together any longer, finally let himself go too.
“Fuck,”
he hissed as he slouched forward, his chest pressing against mine as it rose and fell in quick succession.
With his hand still clamped down over my mouth and my own fingers knotted in his hair, we stayed that way for a while, neither one of us moving or saying a word as we slowly came back down together.
After a few beats, he pulled back a little and let his hand slid away from my mouth. A smoky look filtered through his eyes as he took me in, a small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been wanting to do that all week,”
he admitted hoarsely.
That was news to me. Up until our conversation in my bedroom, I had almost convinced myself that he didn’t even like me anymore. Though that was clearly more of a projection of what I thought about myself and not necessarily what he thought about me. I tended to do that a lot. Just ask Gabriel.
His brows drew together. “What does Gabriel have to do with this?”
he asked, looking a little perturbed. And rightfully so. What a horrible moment to mention another man’s name. Even if it was only in my head.
He pulled back and let go of my legs, carefully dropping me back down to my feet as he pulled up his zipper and buttoned his pants. The momentary, blissful escape had been exactly what I needed, but it was back to reality for the both of us.
“I wish you wouldn’t listen in on my private thoughts,”
I sniped at him as I adjusted my underwear and skirt, thus completely avoiding the question altogether.
“I’m not doing it on purpose,”
he defended, looking wounded by my comment.
My shoulders slumped with remorse because I knew that perfectly well and had only even brought it up to distract him from the question I hadn’t wanted to answer. Real nice, Jemma. “I’m sorry. I know you can’t help it.”
He’d already mentioned in the past that he had to work extra hard to be able to block out people’s mundane thoughts from his mind. And in his current condition, I imagined that skill didn’t come all that easy for him anymore.
Wow. I was a total asshole.
My phone vibrated in my blazer pocket, halting my pity party. Reaching inside my jacket, I pulled out my cell phone and looked at the screen as Trace straightened out the mess we’d made of the art supply room. It was a text message from a phone number that wasn’t programmed in my phone:
Meet me at the Old Solomon Bridge at 3:00
I crinkled my nose and texted back:
Who the hell is this?
Less than ten second later, my phone vibrated again with a response:
It’s Nikki, bitch. Don’t be late.
“Everything okay?”
asked Trace as I stared down at my phone in shock.
“Huh?”
I met his eyes and then quickly shoved my phone back into my pocket. “Oh, yeah. Everything’s good,” I lied, doing my best to sell it. I had to.
I wasn’t sure what this meeting with Nikki was about, but I was sure it had something to do with Trace. Because pretty much everything in Nikki’s pathetic existence had something to do with Trace. Of course, until I knew what that something was, I had no intention of clueing Trace in. At this point, I wanted to keep him as far away from the psychotic witch as humanly possible.
“Listen, I have to meet up with my sister in twenty minutes. Is it okay if we just meet up after school?”
I asked, the lie coming out as easy as releasing a breath.
“Sure,”
he said, his eyes carefully thinning as he assessed my features. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked lowly, as though suspecting something was up.
“No, no.”
I waved him off and pushed out a smiled. “It’s just girl stuff. Are you working tonight?” I asked speedily, trying to change the subject.
“Yeah, for a few hours after school. I have some paperwork I need to finish. Payroll and accounting.”
“Oooh.”
My eyes flared with faux enthusiasm. “Sounds exciting.”
He cracked a smile and then cupped my face, running his thumb across my cheek as he plucked a gentle kiss from my lips. “Be careful taking care of that girl stuff,”
he said pointedly, as though knowing I had just blown smoke up his butt, and then he turned and walked out of the art supply room.
Well, that’s just great, I thought, shaking my head at myself. The only thing worse than lying to Trace was him knowing that I was lying to him. Way to start fresh, Jemma.